


John Watson's Next Summer

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Life on Mars (UK), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 18:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: More odd days in the life of Dr John Watson





	1. One Thousand and One Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DW's Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018
> 
> Chapter titles will often (but not always) be the day's prompt

“Once upon a time there was a brave detective inspector, who, accompanied by Princess Sherlilocks, came to the rescue of a trapped ex-army doctor.  They battled their way through the enchanted basements of the warehouse, fought valiantly against the evil ogre thugs, and used the magic lockpicks of the princess to breach the final obstacle of the cell door.”

Sherlock snorted, but Lestrade ignored him, and continued, “As soon as the gallant doctor had been released, the trio started back, only to be confronted by the wicked prince.  But the brave detective inspector took out his mighty sword and ran him through with a single move.”

“You hit him with a crowbar which one of the ogres had left behind.”

“It doesn’t have the same ring to it.”  Lestrade replied.  “Anyway, back to the story.  And then they took their trusty steeds and returned to the fairy castle.”

“Where they were greeted by, who?  The wicked stepmother?” Sherlock muttered.

“Don’t let Mrs Hudson hear you calling her that.  I shall go for fairy godmother.  And whatever your opinion on my story, it’s had the desired result; John’s fallen asleep.”

“I suppose you’ve got a point,” Sherlock said begrudgingly.

Lestrade wasn’t fooled by the tone, Sherlock might not admit it in words, but his concern for John was very clear.


	2. The Antiques Fair

“That’s pretty,” John said.  “Oh, and so’s that.”

“Tedious!” Sherlock said, picking up a Chinese style vase and thumping it back down on the table.  “Boring!”  This one was put back down even harder.

The stall holder glared at Sherlock, who totally ignored her and moved onto the next table, where he repeated his actions.

John had been quite taken with the idea of visiting an antiques fair, and had even wondered whether they’d find anything suitable for Mrs Hudson’s birthday, but by the time they were halfway round the hall, he was starting to think the only thing he would be paying for was the inevitable breakage when Sherlock grew even more heavy handed.

He trailed after Sherlock as they completed the circuit, conscious of the looks of dislike they were receiving.  Finally, to John’s relief, they left.

Lestrade met them outside.  “Any luck?” he asked.

“Luck doesn’t come into it,” Sherlock said.  “But if you want to know who to arrest it’s the man in the green jumper, second from the top on the right-hand side.”

Lestrade nodded and indicated to his team to follow him inside.

As they watched them go in, John said, “How did you know who it was?  And why were you looking at vases – I thought the trade was in coffee pots?”

“Yes, it was coffee pots.  Most of the stallholders looked alarmed when I mistreated their vases; not that they’re worth that much, they’re English copies of Chinese vases.  Our man, however, wasn’t concerned about his vases, because he had something much more valuable there.”

“Since it was coffee pots, can I say you’ve put a lid on the case?”

 


	3. Come Rain or Shine (And Now The Weather)

“This weather is just perfect,” John Watson said.  He and Inspector Stanley Hopkins of the Met River Police, were sitting on a bench by the River Thames, eating ice creams and watching Sherlock scrabbling around on the ground, looking for something.  No-one knew exactly what Sherlock was looking for; even the man himself had said he wouldn’t know until he found it.

“It was the same temperature yesterday, and yet you were moaning it was too hot,” Sherlock said.

“That is because we were in Trafalgar Square and you were timing how long it took me to get from the National Gallery to various nearby destinations and back again.  You had found a spot in the shade whilst I was walking briskly in the midday sun.”

“The timings were important to my investigation,” Sherlock replied.  John snorted.

“Have you found anything yet?” Stanley interrupted.  “Only there’s a storm brewing.”

“We’ll be fine for a while yet,” Sherlock replied.

Stanley nudged John and pointed to the sky.  Where it had previously been clear and blue, black clouds were now covering about half of it, and the proportion covered was growing rapidly.  John motioned with his head in the direction of a nearby pub.  Stanley nodded.  They both stood up.

“We’ll see you in the pub, then, Sherlock,” John said.

“Whatever.”

John and Stanley walked rapidly towards the pub, breaking into a run as the first drops of rain began to fall.

They had been drinking their pints for about ten minutes when Sherlock finally joined them.

“Here’s the subject of your next blog post, John,” Stanley said.  “The drowned rat of Baker Street.”

“I was right,” Sherlock said.  “You need to come and look.”

“Five minutes while we finish our pints,” Stanley said.

By the time they had finished their drinks and left the pub, the sun was shining as if there had been no interruption to its day.

“This weather is just perfect,” John said.  Sherlock ignored him.


	4. Vox Dei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The challenge was to use one (or more) of the following:  
>  Broken blade; Police station; Rheumatoid arthritis; Secret society; Vox populi, vox dei; Danger zone; Performance issues; Rapid fire

John sat back in his chair, only half listening as Sherlock aimed a rapid fire of deductions at Greg Lestrade.  John’s attention was drawn by the shift in Greg’s attitude, which indicated Sherlock was heading into a danger zone, probably not surprising since he was listing a number of performance issues with the Met, which had meant, in Sherlock’s opinion, they had failed to see the obvious, and therefore created avoidable delays.

Sherlock concluded, “Just because the majority of your officers have concluded the cases are not connected, does not mean they are right.  You cannot apply the principle of _vox populi, vox dei,_ to policework.”

John braced himself for the reply; Greg was clearly furious. 

“No doubt you are setting yourself up as _vox dei_ ,” Greg said.  “I may be prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt, and say there is some form of secret society involved, but that does not give you the right to disregard the correct procedure.  And had you been prepared to wait at the police station, rather than flouncing out, declaring there was nothing for you to learn, you might have discovered even you had made a mistake.”

Sherlock said nothing, simply raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, you were right,” Greg continued, “Barnes was killed by the broken blade you found.”

“Precisely,” Sherlock said.

“But it wasn’t Cooper who stabbed him.”

“It had to be.”

“He couldn’t have done it,” John said.  “He’d had a flare up of his rheumatoid arthritis that morning.  He wouldn’t have been able to grip the blade firmly enough.”

“Oh!”

“And that,” Greg continued, “Is why we have set procedures, and take longer than you would like.  We’re as keen as you are to catch the people involved, we just take a bit more time.”

 


	5. Purple Prose (John's Blog)

The morning, which had begun so peacefully, with the golden sphere shining brilliantly in its setting of sapphire hue, was disturbed momentarily by the shrill call of the mobile.  Sherlock moved lithely across the floor and removed the encumbrances which blocked his access to the summoning sound.  He answered melodiously, seeking to assist the caller with his urgent request, one which seemed to present a slight, although not insurmountable, difficulty.

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock’s paramour arrived.  Sherlock instantly deduced the route the man had taken, and elaborated for our edification the urgency which had overcome him.  Sherlock peremptorily demanded they do not delay their departure further, but since he was still in a state of dishabille, this desire was overruled and the beloved paused to partake of a hot beverage.  However soon they did indeed depart, Sherlock wearing a shirt whose colour matched that of this prose.

#####

“I hope this is not going to become a regular occurrence,” Sherlock said.

“Don’t you like my new blog style?” John asked.

“A whole paragraph just to say my mobile had slid down the back of the sofa when Mycroft phoned this morning.  No-one wants to know that.”

Stanley Hopkins was also reading the blog.  “I wouldn’t call it much of a deduction to say I’d stopped on the way to buy breakfast.”

“True,” John agreed.  “You were dropping crumbs on the floor as you finished eating it.  But he did deduce why you were late leaving home.”

“Even I wouldn’t call, ‘Stanley, you spend too much time playing with your cat’ a real deduction,” Sherlock said.  “And then no-one needs to know he had some coffee while I got dressed.  In fact the whole thing seems rather trivial.”

“So, I was bored.  It’s better than shooting holes in the wall!”


	6. 'Cold' by Jorge Méndez

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of character death, not major
> 
> Music [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUZeSYsU0Uk&feature=youtu.be)

John sat on the hard dining chair and listened as Sherlock and Mycroft played together.  That Mycroft played the piano shouldn’t really have come as a surprise to him; he was perhaps justified in his surprise the brothers could play in harmony.  But this was their mother’s wake, and both were sharing their emotion in the only way possible.  John stared first at the ceiling, and then at the floor, desperate not to catch the eye of any of the others in the room.  When the music finished there was complete silence, which lasted until the brothers left the room.

Then Mr Holmes stood up, and with a shaking hand indicated the small buffet which had been set out in the adjoining room.  Quietly John stood, and taking the older man by the arm, led him through.


	7. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

John walked into 221B and instantly collapsed into his armchair.  He looked over at Greg Lestrade, who was cheerfully drinking one of his bottles of beer.  “Nice to see someone’s having a good evening,” he said.  “I thought you had a pressing case to deal with.”

“I did,” Greg agreed.  “Sherlock solved it.  I put the word out and the French police have picked up our two men.  They won’t be back in this country until late tomorrow, since the French have one or two questions they wish to put to them first.  So Sherlock suggested I have a beer while we waited for you to get back.  How was your evening?”

“When I agreed to take your place assisting Sally with a small project for her cousin regarding the emergency services, I didn’t realise quite what I’d let myself in for.”

“Do tell,” Sherlock said.  John suspected there was a smirk hovering at the corner of his mouth.

“How difficult could it be?” John said, “Simply explaining a little about the ambulance service to Sally’s cousin.  What no-one thought to tell me was that it wasn’t just Sally’s cousin but 24 Brownies, because Sally’s cousin is a Brown Owl.”

Both Sherlock and Greg started to laugh.

John glared.  “You knew, both of you knew.  Go and get me one of _my_ beers!”

Greg fetched a bottle.  “Was it really that bad?”

John took a long swig of the bottle.  “I’ll leave you to answer that.  We spent so long talking about what paramedics do we didn’t have time to mention the police.  So it’s your turn next week.”

 


	8. Medieval Re-enactment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using three little words 'chase; bicycle; pike'

It was, John Watson felt, just another day in his rather bizarre life.  That morning Greg had asked for Sherlock’s assistance at a Wars of the Roses re-enactment camp.  John, who had nothing better to do that day, had decided to go along for the ride. 

They had wandered around the camp, Sherlock asking various questions and getting various responses from the re-enactors.  After a while Sherlock had sufficient evidence and he began to cast around for his suspect.

Suddenly he had shouted, “Look, John, over there!”

In the distance a man started to run.  Sherlock proceeded to give chase, taking a bicycle which was lying inside a nearby tent.  To catch up with his quarry Sherlock rode straight across the battlefield.   

There were various shouts of “You can’t do that, it’s not authentic”, which Sherlock ignored.

John could see the suspect was about to go to ground amongst the many tents pitched on the far side.  Sherlock presumably did so too, for he called to Greg to stop him.  Greg looked round and grabbed the first thing which came to hand, a twelve-foot pike. 

Greg pointed the weapon in the direction of the suspect, who stopped abruptly.  Sherlock drew to a halt behind him, and the man was swiftly apprehended and handed over to the local police.

Later, Greg and John were enjoying a pint of the local ale.  Sherlock began to point out the historical inaccuracies which had been used in the brewing process, but was instantly shouted down by the other two.

 

 


	9. Something Forgotten

John collapsed into his armchair with a contented sigh.  It was Friday afternoon and he had the whole weekend to look forward to.  He should have been able to relax, but there was a niggling doubt at the back of his mind, a feeling that he’d forgotten something.

He mentally ran through the shopping list, but he was sure he’d bought the essentials, so it wasn’t that.  He’d finished at the surgery at lunchtime and had passed on all the relevant messages.  Had Mrs Hudson asked him to do something?  Yes, water her pot plants, but she wasn’t going away until tomorrow, so it couldn’t have been that.

He looked over at Sherlock’s empty chair and sat bolt upright.  John had been on his way to join Sherlock on a case after he’d finished work.  Greg had sent him a text telling him where they were meeting for drinks that evening, and saying he’d be earlier than planned as they’d got a confession on another case.  John had intended passing the message onto Sherlock, but hadn’t been given the chance, being silenced as soon as he began ‘Greg says’. 

“No time for Lestrade’s words of wisdom,” Sherlock had said.  “Tell me what you think about this.”

By the time they had finished, John had forgotten he was intending to say anything.  It was only now, as he wondered where Sherlock was, that he realised he’d gone to Streatham, which was the site of Greg’s case.  But with the confession there was no need for Sherlock to have gone.

There wasn’t much he could do about that now, so he sent Sherlock a text saying <Greg’s case closed so meeting him early.  There’s pasta in the fridge.>


	10. Unexpected Visitors

John let himself into 221 and started up the stairs.  He could hear voices coming down from higher up.

“What sort of poncy name is that anyway?  Sherlock Holmes?” a man with a northern accent was saying.

“DI Lestrade said he would be the best person to help us,” another replied.

John heard Mrs Hudson say something, presumably in introduction and greeted her as she made her way back down the stairs.

“I suppose you’re going to want some more biscuits,” she said in reply.

“No, it’s okay,” John said.  “There’s a spare packet in the spaghetti tin.”

He followed the two visitors into the flat and headed for the kitchen.  “Tea, anyone?” he called out.

“Yes,” the taller of the two replied, “so long as it’s got some colour to it.”

“Gene!” the other said.  “Yes please, that would be good.”

John put the kettle on, retrieved the biscuits from the spaghetti tin, debated about putting them on a plate and decided the visitors probably wouldn’t be bothered.  Once he’d made the tea he took it through and offered the biscuits.

The one called Gene said, “Lovely.  Custard creams, haven’t had one of them for ages.”  He took two and shoved one straight in his mouth.

Meanwhile Sherlock had been checking something on his laptop.  He looked up, accepted the tea, and said, “John, DCI Gene Hunt and DI Sam Tyler have come for our help.  I think I can get them what they want.  It could be dangerous.  Are you coming?”

John nodded.  “Just let me drink my tea first.”

Gene Hunt said, “No need to rush out before we’ve drunk our tea.  And eaten the biscuits.”  He helped himself to another one.

“I think this deserves further thought,” Sam Tyler said.  “We are outside our own jurisdiction.”

“Give it a rest, Doris,” Hunt replied.  “We need results and we need them fast.”

“I still think we should liaise with DI Lestrade.”

“No need,” Sherlock said.  “I’ve sent him a text.  He’ll meet us there.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Hunt said.  He put his empty mug on the table and stood up.  “We have toerags to deal with.”

 


	11. John's Logical Suggestion

“Sherlock, don’t be ridiculous.  You’ve got a heavy cold.  Stay home today, get some rest and let Scotland Yard do the running around for once.”  John Watson said.

“I’m perfectly capable,” Sherlock said.  He sneezed twice.  “I’ll just take a box of tissues with me.”

“You can’t go to a crime scene and sneeze all over it.  You’ll contaminate the evidence.”

Sherlock’s reply was incomprehensible, since it was accompanied by various coughs and sneezes.

“And even you don’t think as quickly when your head’s full of cold.”

“My cold-ridden abilities are still better than Lestrade’s on a good day.”

There was a knock on the outside door and John said, “I’ve arranged for you to have a companion for the day to make sure you don’t try and go out.”

Sherlock glared at John.  When he heard Mrs Hudson speaking to Greg he added, “Lestrade’s not going to make any difference.”

John grinned cheerfully.  “He’s not your companion.”

Greg entered the room, followed by Stanley Hopkins, who was carrying his own box of tissues.

Greg looked at John and said, “As you suggested, I’ve brought Hopkins over to stop him breathing his germs all over everybody.  He and Sherlock can keep each other company and moan about how unappreciated they are, between sneezes.”

John laughed.  “Thank you.  See you later Sherlock, Stanley.”


	12. Stanley's Mother

John hadn’t been entirely convinced Sherlock and Stanley wouldn’t have staged a breakout in his absence, so, when he walked into 221B later that day, he was pleased to discover both of them sitting on the sofa.

Stanley was on the phone.  “It’s just a cold …  Yes, I am looking after myself …  No, I won’t do anything stupid.  Hang on a minute, mother.”  He waved the phone at John and said, “Here, convince her there’s no need for her to come down.”

John took the phone from Stanley and said, “Hello, Mrs Hopkins.  My name’s John Watson and I’m a doctor and a friend of Stanley’s …  Yes, a medical doctor …  I can assure Stanley only has a bad cold …  Yes, I do appreciate you find it difficult when he doesn’t tell you anything until after he’s recovered, but it really is only a cold …  He’s having lots of hot drinks and I’m about to make another one …”

At that moment Mrs Hudson arrived carrying a couple of mugs of hot soup.  John looked at her and said, “Mrs Hudson, please could you assure Stanley’s mother he is eating properly, and there is no need for her to come rushing up to London to cook for him.”

Mrs Hudson gave Sherlock and Stanley the soup, looked firmly at both of them before saying, “Drink it!”  She then accepted the phone from John.  “Mrs Hopkins, please don’t worry about your son …  I’m ensuring Sherlock has suitable nourishing meals, so I can as easily feed two as one …  I wouldn’t dream of giving him heated up ready meals, perish the thought …  Of course I shall make sure Stanley is properly fed.”

Finally, she rang off and looked sternly at Stanley.  “You will eat the food I prepare for you, because I am not having your mother coming here and complaining at the standard of my meals.”

Stanley nodded.


	13. Nothing I Could Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was a comfort food, item or activity

John met Sherlock as he reached the top of the stairs and put an arm out to prevent him from striding straight into 221B.  “Stanley’s in there.  I assume you’ve heard what happened.”

“Yes, I’ve been helping Gregson piece together the events just prior to the explosion.  How badly is he hurt?”

John refrained from commenting on the fact that Sherlock was working with Gregson.  Instead he said, “Nothing more than cuts and bruises from flying debris.  I’ll clean them up properly in a while, whenever I try at the moment he starts to shake again.  I’ve told him he’ll stay with us for the next few days.  So, we stopped off at his flat on the way here, to collect Tilly plus some spare clothes.”

Sherlock nodded, and opened the door.  As he went in Stanley looked up.  “Hello!”  He said no more, but continued to stroke the little cat who was curled up on his lap.

John watched as Sherlock’s attention was drawn to the kitchen, from where the smell of cooking was coming.  He indicated with his head for Sherlock to follow him in there.

“It’s a jam roly poly,” he said.  “Mrs Hudson made one and has put it to cook in our oven.  Her theory is that if Stanley smells it cooking he’s more likely to eat some.”

“That makes sense,” Sherlock said, “but why jam roly poly?”

“I phoned Stanley’s parents.  This is on national news, so there’s no way they wouldn’t hear about it.  And they’d be worried when they couldn’t get hold of him.”

“His phone’s switched off,” Sherlock agreed.  “I tried to contact him.  Then Gregson said Lestrade had called you to come and look after him, so I knew there was nothing I could do.”

 “Right.  I assured his parents Stanley was okay but badly shaken and that we were taking care of him.  Then I gave the phone to Mrs Hudson, because I had the feeling his mother didn’t believe me.  She discovered Stanley’s favourite food as a child was jam roly poly, so she decided to make him one.”

“It sounds like you’ve got everything sorted between you,” Sherlock said.

“We’ve done our bit,” John replied.  “But he needs you too.  He won’t talk to me, but I can see him playing through the events in his head.  Sit with him and be there when he’s ready to talk.”

Sherlock nodded, and walked over to the sofa.  He sat next to Stanley, put an arm round him and ran a finger over the cat’s head.  Tilly purred, and then Stanley said softly, “It was awful.  And there was nothing I could do.”


End file.
